War of the Four Shezzarines
by Whoa Heavy
Summary: The Agent of Daggerfall. The Nerevarine. The Hero of Kvatch. And the Dragonborn. Each found homes in different parts of the world. And when they find themselves in the two hundredth and second year of the fourth age, the want nothing more then to bring greatness to the land they call home. War between these ancient and new heroes is inevitable. And theirs would tear Tamriel apart.
1. Chapter 1

_**The War of the four Shezarrines  
Chapter One: Agent 1: 4e201  
The Knight of the Numidium**_

In a moment, the old world fell away.

Even I, 34 year old ex-mercenary, sworn blade of the empire, nobleman and liberator of the orcs and a whole bunch of other titles thrust upon me, could only stand 2 minutes against that ancient dwemer creation beneath Mantella Crux.

Wherever the Numidium walked, the entire world would shake it it's path.

I was tasked, nearly twelve years ago, to do two things. Discover who killed King Lysandus, a friend of Uriel Septim, and the king of the city state of Daggerfall. The other, to discover what happened to a letter sent by the Emperor to a spy within the King's court.

Things... Spiralled out of control. I killed the king of Worms, Liberated the Orismer, got knighted and given lands and titles.

And of course, help awoke an ancient dwemer artefact.

Why?

I...

I looked up. Currently, I was nowhere near the ancient crypt where the Numidium had stood for nearly a thousand years.  
Instead, I was laying down in a grassy field. The sun was shining with a autumnal glow. The wind was gently blowing, wiping lightly through my hair.  
I sat up. I was near nothing, not a soul, landmark or man.

Was I dead? Was this the Dreamsleave? Had the eight Divines taken me by Arkay's side?

Last thing I did was fight against a berserk machine that had brought down kingdoms on my own, with only my spear and magic.

Death was quite likely.

I would not stay sat in the grassy field.  
I stood up, noticing my spear sat beside me. At least that had came with me when the world shattered.

I picked up Crystaspear, the weapon I had reforged for myself many moons ago, and set off away from the rising sun. If I was still in High Rock, then I would be making my way to the coastline eventually. If I was anywhere else in Tameriel, or indeed beyond, then west is as good a direction as east.

* * *

For two days I walked. I had little in the way of food, but cooking sparrows and ravens with a fire ball soon sorted that out.

Near the set of the second day, I happened upon a small village. The Village's name was Goatacre. A farming village if I had ever heard of one.

The people were a little confused by the well armoured knight walking though their small village, but had carried on with their duties.

I still had no idea where I was. The majority of the people here were of the races of man. Breton's seemingly, a few imperials and Redguards dotted between. Meaning I was more then likely in some part of Skyrim, Cyrodil or High Rock.

I made my way to the tavern. For every tiny village and town I had visited during my long years on the road, Tavern's were crucial. Something to do after dark if the serfs weren't too tired from the day's work, a place for travellers to sleep comfortably, and a place to gather simple information. Like where was I, what had happened whilst I was out cold and such.

The sign above the door suggested that I leave my weapons with a bar maid, but I elected to simply place the adamantium Spear by the door. In a moment I could use telekinesis to snatch the weapon as needed if something terrible should happen. That or I kill most of the men in here with destructive arts as required.

I sat at the bar. The options were "Beer" and "Wine." Which spoke a lot of the poverty of the place. Still, I hadn't too much gold on me, and I was loathe to barter with my armaments. They were quite literally priceless after all.

"Mug of beer." I requested, noting to keep my posh Imperial city breed accent out. No doubt that would fail me soon enough, and my armor and spear noted me as a man of some wealth and standing anyway.

"Don't get many knights through these parts." Said the Tavern owner, as he signalled for a bar maid to pour me a drink.

"I wouldn't know where these parts are. I woke up two days ago in the middle of a grassy field."

"Hah! Sounds like one hell of a night to not even remember a thing." Said the Tavern owner with mirth.

I smiled.

"Yes indeed. So, I know the name of the Village, but I know not where that Village is."

The Tavern owner smiled. As the Bar maid, a comely looking women, with a face that suggested Imperial descent, despite her obvious breton height, placed my mug of frothy, likely warm and disgusting swill tasting beer, I placed 10 septims down.

"Tell me what has happened since I was out cold."

I had charged what was likely twice the amount for the watered down urine that constituted beer here, I should get something resembling coherent information.

"And when was that sire?" Said the tavern owner, greedily taking the septims.

"9th of Frostfall." I said simply.

"Wow. That was quite a while back." Said the tavern owner.

"Indeed? What is the current date?"

"Today is the... 17th? Yeah, the 17th of Last seed." Said the owner, struggling to remember the date as if he was a child learning to count on both hands instead of a single.

"I've been out for 10 months? That is shocking."

"Well, here in Wayrest, most of us are getting ready for winter, so it's a busy time of year as you may appreciate. We'll be celebrating Appreciation day soon. Most of the news is north, in Skyrim."

Ah. I am in the Kingdom of Wayrest, within High Rock. Good to know. That puts me only a few weeks ride from Cyrodil, or about a month's ride north to my keep.

"What news from the north?"

"Well, the Stormcloak rebellion is really kicking off. Rumour has it even the High King himself wishes to declare independence from the Empire."

I balked.

Stormcloaks? The Nords rebelling against the Empire? The Nords were some of the most loyal men within Tamriel. Something really terrible must've happened in the last ten months to inspire open rebellion.  
Then again, the Empire decaying and falling apart was why I was sent after the Numidium in the first place. And since the Numidium went berserk and attacked me...

"I didn't think High King Edmure was harbouring great anti Empire sentiment."

"Edmure? King Toyrrg rules Skyrim. Though I heard this morning that may no longer be true. Jarl Ulfric apparently slew him in a duel by shouting the man apart." Said the Tavern owner with a raised eyebrow.

Wait. Has Skyrim changed King's in ten months? Edmure had no heirs with the name Toyyrg.

"Right. Of course. Forgive me, I'm not much of a current affairs kind of guy."

That's an outright lie. As a Blade, sworn in service to Uriel Septim VII, It was basically my duty to keep informed of the ins and outs of the politics of the Empire.

"S'allright. Still, all this talk of rebellion means we might see more legionaries moving through our lands heading north." Said the bar owner.

I nodded.

"How far are we from the village of Wendwater? I have family there."

Wendwater was the small village I had been gifted by the crown in slaying the necromancer Mannimarco. It was a seaside village in the forests of Anticlere. I had no idea where in Wayrest we were, and I wanted to know how far I was from a decent port city.

"Village? Wendwater ain't no village mate. One of the greatest cities in the Kingdom of Wayrest."

What? Wayrest was over 200 miles from Anticlere.

"You must be Mistaken. If we are in Wayrest we are in the estuary of the river Bjoulsae river."

"Lad, Your maps must be over two hundred years. The kingdom of Wayrest stretches from the old state to Ykalon, Daenia and Anticlere."

No. That's not possible. Wayrest may have been the second most powerful city state in the Iliac bay, but even their armies couldn't occupy that much land in ten months.

Unless they had the Numidium...

None of this made any sense. Skyrim a new king, Wayrest claiming hundreds of miles of land, Wendwater now a city...

"What year is it?" I asked, fear and trepidation in my voice.

"Wow. Are you daft?"

I withheld my childhood instinct to draw my knife and hold it to his throat as my voice lowered.

"What year is it."

The man gulped, looking at my hands as I slowly stretch them, preparing the mental power to snatch Crystaspear from the door and slay the man where he stood.

"It's the Fourth era, year 201 of Akatosh."

I let go of the mug in my left hand, it's contents spilling on the floor as I stared into this man's eyes. They held no humour, no jest.  
I was truly at least 200 years in the future.

* * *

 _ **Agent: The Lord of Wendwater  
4e202- 21st of Last Seed**_

It had been a long year. Travelling the width of the Illac bay on horseback, learning everything I could about the new world I had found myself thrust into.  
About the Fall of the Empire. The Oblivion crisis and the Nerevaraines Return. About the Aldmeri Dominion, about the Pretender sitting in the imperial city, about the fall of the kingdom of Orsinium, the Kingdom I had help build.  
And I had learnt about current events. The Stormcloaks successful rebellion. The return of Dragons. This "Dragonborn" warrior of the north.

The empire was no more. Without a true Septim on the throne, I had no oath to uphold. My empire died when the Bastard son of the man I served sacrificed himself. It was a hollow shell of it's former self.  
I had made a decision.

No man deserved to lead me. I was the firstborn of a drunk and a witch. I had clawed my way from Mugger and mage to a knight of Daggerfall, to a spy for the greatest empire ever built. I was the man that started what I had learnt was called "The Warp in the West."

I had read the book. My entire history, everything I had ever done in service to the empire, was denoted to a minor mention in a book no one read.  
The ruling family of my holdings were descendants of mine, after all, I had a daughter with my shrew of a arranged wife before I left to complete the Numidium. Now the Family in charge of my city were named Vanne.

I was Tristane, of the new house Masterly.

It was for that purpose that five sell swords stood behind me, as I stood on a grassy hill awaiting the arrival of Lord Dumac Vanne of Wendwater.

I stared over the city that was mine by right. A great port city, near where the sea ends and the river begins. Great forests to the north fuelled the shipyards and fertile lands to the east feed the people. A fine city. A fine start.

Behind me stood 3 thousand sell swords. Orcs, Redguards and Bretons. Interest on the hundreds of thousands of septims I had hid in banks across High Rock made me a very wealthy man, yet I had yet to access all of them. Plus, I couldn't carry that much gold on my person. What I had withdrawn paid for the army behind me. It was unlikely I needed them. The holdings of House Vanne were mine, by right of blood.

Eventually, a stout man on a brown horse approached me, followed by five Bretons dressed in light armor, bearing the sigil of a black ship on a red sea.

"Tristane Masterly." Said the man.

I nodded, my hand resting upon my Spear Cystraspear, as much proof of my identity as anything else.

"Your house is descended from my blood. I began the house that built these lands. The city, your holdings and everything the family of Vanne owns is mine by right."

"You'll forgive me if I don't pay heed to the words of a mad man pretending to be an ancient hero."

I rolled my eyes.

"Lord Dumac Vanne. I am the rightful heir of Wendwater, I am the Warp in the West, the slayer of Mannimarco, the sword of the evening, blade of the emperor and Knight of the Dragon. Pledge allegiance to me, strike your banners, and you will have a place in the world I will build." I said, an absolute confidence born of complete understanding was in my voice. "Deny me and you shall be destroyed."

"I will not surrender my lands, my inheritance, to a madman." Said Dumac. "If you are who you claim to be, you have been dead for centuries."

I gritted my teeth. So rather then by right of blood, I shall have to take this city by blood. No matter.

"Hold your family close to you and prepare your last writs. By the dawn of the third day. This city shall be mine."

* * *

By the setting of the second day, there was little left of their guard. Magic had considerably changed since my time. Apparently the Mages Guild had banned Levitation and now none lived that were trained in it.

I had taught all magically inclined men and women the skill, and we easily flew over their defences, cutting them down and opening the way for the more martially inclined.

By the first day all but the keep had fallen to me. We slew the family inside, the guards easily surrendered. I sat upon the Lord's chair. Crystaspear still covered in the blood of my descendent, Lord Dumac. Wendwater was mine, by right of conquest and blood.

My Sellsword army stood ready, and I had made them an attractive offer. Stay loyal to me, and gather all the riches we can get. Betray me and I'll slaughter them to the last man.

And So, by the second day, I was made Lord Tristane Masterly of the Wendwater.

"My Liege."  
A Court mage, a breton male of late middle aged bowed to me. He had been one of the many inside the keep to surrender to me, and I had yet seen little reason to kill him.

"Mage." I responded simply.

"The other lords of Wayrest will not be happy with this. Such unrest is ill wanted. There has been no talk of civil war, and this is breaking the empire's peace..."

I stood up from my seat and ran a hand through my hair.

"The Empire is a dying cancerous lung that is approaching it's last breath. The other lords will bow to me soon enough."

"Bow to you? If you are... The Tristane Masterly of legend then you have right to this land, but what claim do you suppose to the throne of Wayrest? Perhaps make peace and marry off your heirs..."

"Did you speak in such simpering terms to my descendent? No wonder the city fell so easily. The Throne of Wayrest lost all claim when it broke my peace. Mine."

"Sir?"

I glared at the court mage.

"Over 200 years ago I liberated the Wrothtail mountains and helped the Orcs build Orsinium. And what has Wayrest, High rock, and the countless other kingdoms done? They drove out the orcs, slew the men, women and children. I gave my life to create this peace, to strengthen the empire. And now... I shall recreate the peace."

"...Sir?"  
The mage sounded terrified.  
I sat back in my chair, gazing across the great hall. Crystaspear resting in my hands.  
And I allowed myself a grin.  
I straightened in the chair.

"Gather the other lords of the Anticlere. Tell them the Emperor has need of them."

* * *

 _ **Welcome to The War of the Four Shezzarines. In case the title didn't give it away, this fic concerns a four (?) way war between the heroes of the last four mainline elder scrolls games.**_

 _ **Most of the history of the four heroes shall be given in the fic, but in case...**_

 _ **-Skyrim: Dragonborn sides with the Stormcloaks**_  
 _ **-Daggerfall: Agent has taken control of his former holdings and has gathered the lords of the former kingdom of Anticlere. He seeks to name himself Emperor**_  
 _ **-Morrowind: Current Location of the Nerevarine unknown, presumed in Akavira**_  
 _ **-Oblivion: Could be Sheogorath, could be dead**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**War of the Four Shezzarines  
Chapter two: Dragonborn 4e202 18th Frostfall  
The Dovahkin- Liberator of Skyrim**_

* * *

The ride to Solitude from Whiterun had been a pleasant one. Even passing through the swamp lands had been far better then travelling to Winterhold during summer. Good forbid going there at the height of winter.

King Ulfric had called forth all the Jarl's, minor lords, thanes and major knights of Skyrim to gather at Solitude. Apparently, events in High Rock had gathered his attention.

The Dragonborn herself, the letter had read.

Even I, the Dragonborn Elisa Fire-Borne had little reason to refuse. As the people's champion and the Thane of Whiterun, it was her duty and pleasure to ride north to her king and aid. Sadly, she had been separate from the politics of the realm for quite some time, having been saving the world on Solstheim and slaying vampires. But she was Skyrim's liberator, one of the kings most trusted.

With my Daedric sword of black and oblivion named "Shadowset" at my side, and a stout ebony shield "Moonrise.", my armour of strong ebony, black as night, little could stop my heroic journey. Many things had tried. Including a dragon.

Even with Alduin long dead and gone, his legacy lived on. Both Parthurmax and Odahving were trying to rein in the other Dovah's, but still many clung to their base nature of power and domination.

Still, slaying them was always fun. A good, noble challenge for a strong nord such as me.

I decided to sleep under the stars that night. The aurora Borealis dancing across the midnight sky. It was nights like this that made me glad I had so little political ties. Sure, I had titles, and liberated Skyrim, but I had left actual ruling and politics to those that knew what they were doing. I had grown a simple lass in Bruma. Not a well trained nobleman in the heart of Skyrim. None the less, I was their hero, and the Dragonborn needed to here what Skyrim needed defending from.

It was yet one more day until I had finished climbing the road to Solitude.  
I took a look around the battlements. Men and women of the solitude guard were on high alert, and many men and women of different holds when entering and leaving the city as she rode in.

As I disembarked from my horse, chucking a hundred septims to the stable-boy and walking into the city, she took the time to soak it in.

Solitude was the least typical northern city in Skyrim. A year after the Empire had been driven from it, it still stank of the empire typical "Virtues" of greed and tyranny.  
None the less, Skyrim's capital was Solitude, and the High king needed to be there. Ulfric had mentioned a few times that he wished he was back in Windhelm, but duty calls.

I walked into the castle, guards saluting as I passed.

"...Elisif has even been rumoured to have meet with him." Said the deep voice of jarl Silverblood.

"Sorry I'm late." I said as I made my way to the one remaining seat at the table. The Jarls, Thane's and even the king nodded as I sat.

"As Timely as ever Dragonborn." said Ulfric with a slight smile.

"What have I missed."

"High Rock is in turmoil." Said Silverblood.

I raised a single eyebrow.

"One of the Lords of Wayrest has been slain, his household taken by a man claiming to be Tristane Masterly, the Agent of the Warp. Other lords of the former kingdom of Anticlere have joined him and even named him Emperor. He marches on Wayrest with hostile intent and has both the army, Navy and money to back a strong campaign." Explained Gray Mane.

"By Talos... Wait, the Agent of the Warp?"

"The Warp in the West was two hundred years ago. There's no way it's the same man."

"Rumour has it Orc encampmants across Skyrim believe it. They practically worship the man as their liberator, If he can get an Orcish army behind him and conquers Wayrest we may yet see an empire rise once more." Said Sorli.

"There is no way I shall bow to Breton. We only just got Skyrim it's independence from the Empire. We shall not bow to a madman claiming to be a dead man." Shouted Gray Mane.

"We shan't. The man has barely 6000 soldiers to his name. Even with the others of the Anticlere join him, 20 thousand men are no threat to us, the empire or the kingdoms of High rock. The man won't see his next winter." Said Ulfric.

"And if the Orcs join him? Your grace, the man has power over the green savages. He's probably the one human they'd follow into war. And there are many encampments across Northern Tamriel. Not even including the semi civilised ones living in our cities." Said Sorli.

"Then we shall do nothing. His war is with High Rock for the foreseeable future. If, in the unlikely case he succeeds, he conquers Wayrest, then we shall begin to intervene. No sooner." Said Ulfric.

"Your Grace." I speak up. "We were once a tiny insurrection with support from but a few Jarl's. Now we rule Skyrim. If this so called emperor can get even half the support of High Rock, they have far more men, ships and the means to support an army then we might after all the wars we've fought. Decisive action now might..."

"Dragonborn. We cannot intervene. We are an independent nation from the empire. Intervening in their war will only complicate the matter."

"You can't. I can." I said resolutely. "I've never been a true member of the Skyrim ruling elite. Send me and a few sell swords and we'll kill him before summer begins."

Ulfric raised his eyebrow.  
"This man is no dragon. Slaying a leader is different from a beast of an ancient world."

"I've killed many men."

"So be it. Dragonborn, until you have completed this mission you are "Officially" striped of your rank. I pray to Talos for your success." Said Ulfric.

I smiled. Finally, a decent quest. To slay a usurper.

* * *

 _ **Lord Tristane of the Wendwater  
4e202- 28th Hearts Fire**_

Before me stood the 16 or so lords of the former Anticlere. They had heard of my conquest of the city and were worried. My Claim must've been unbelievable, but the one of a kind spear in my hand, the extreme likeness to the one painting of me hanging in the hallway dating back to the third age and my word should convince them.

"My lords." I said, standing up.

"What madness is this? One cannot just claim to be a lord by slaying the previous Lord's..." Shouted one "Lord Supursly".

"I have right to this chair by blood and Conquest Lord Supursly. And claim to far more."

"I hear rumours that you wish to declare yourself king of Wayrest." Said Lady Manderly. A power hungry and smart women my page had whispered before this meeting. Smart boy that one. At twelve, Young Griffith could join me as a squire soon enough.

"I have no right of blood to that throne."

The room seemed to catch it's breath.  
"None the less, it shall be mine."

They gasped once more.

"250 years ago I activated the Numidium. It was used by five seperate figures. Daggerfall seized the west. Sentinal the south. Wayrest the east. And the Orcs the North. My emperor, Uriel Septim VII used it to bring the empire peace. And the underking finally saw the sweat release of death."

"A legend well known sire." Said my court mage. Simpering fool. Soon enough, once he passed one my "Ancient" magics to the troops he'd be executed. But until then the man had his uses.

"And yet, I find the Orcs without a home, Wayrest and Daggerfall greedy and allowing bandits and scum to run wild across the terroritorys. I find the Empire a dying shadow of itself." I said. There were cautious nods across the hall. Goods. "The Numidia lives on in me. I was brought back to complete it's task. To rebuild the Empire, to drive out our enemies to the far south, to find the orcs their rightful home and to rebuild High Rock to it's former glory."

There were cheers.

"Join me, as my bannermen and fellow lords, and I promise conquest. War and bloodshed. But also Lasting peace, glory and great wealth. We shall destroy the sycophants in wayrest and the cowards of Daggerfall. We shall wipe out the Thalmor and their oppression. The nords will once again heel as they should."

More cheers.

"Ride with me. Ride into war. Into death or glory! Declare me your Emperor in the eyes of god and men and let us make High Rock great once more."

Of course, the letter bringing them here mentioned the exchange of land with those we conquer, the money and titles I'd offer too. But a good speech did wonders for men and women. I might not have slain Mannimarco at the battle of Wrothtail had I not motivated the Bretons, Orcs and Redguards at my command.  
The first to draw his sword was Lord Estermont of Aldshire. A half Nord/half Breton with a great grey beard and harsh hands.

"Aye." He got on one knee, lowered his head and presented his sword. "Emperor Tristane Masterly!"

14 more got onto their knees and declared the same thing.

Only one stood. Nervous. Lord Supursly.

"And why do you falter Lord Supursly?"

"Usurper!" Shouted out a posh voice from the hall.

A man, an orcish sellsword ran to the hall doors.

"My lord, Lord Harren of the city of Anticlere." Said the Orc with much haste.

I turned my attention from the week shivering lord to the man who entered my halls furious. A tallish Breton. A thin pencil mustache adorned his face, a duelist scar on his right cheek. I noticed his hand clutching his rapier in a death grip.

"Lord Harren." I said simply, walking past Lord supursly with a clap.

"You... Usurper!" Said Lord Harren. "You march into my lands and claim my friend Lord Dumac's city! By what right..." He began.

"By right of blood and conquest." I said simply.

He gritted his teeth.

"And now you incite my lords into open rebellion against both Wayrest and the Empire? Art thou a madman or a fool!"

"A man certain of his task Lord Harren." I said, my hand reaching out for Crystaspear. It flew from it's place by my throne into my hand. "Do you openly challenge me?"

The other lords turned around. They had no intention of standing with me yet, despite their apparent pledges, and killing this man would leave them little choice but victory with me or execution for treason.

"Challenge you?" He seemed to look at the Adamantium spear, alive with light, for the first time. The fact that I might actually be the hero of legend seemed to pass through his mind for the first time. "You are a usurper, I shall put you down myself!"

He drew his rapier, placing himself in a defensive stance, the sword in one hand, a fireball spell in the other. I smiled. It had been some time since a duelled a breton.

I placed both hands upon Crystaspear.

"The lords shall join your side and it shall be as if nothing happened." I said.

"I shall have the servants cleaning your blood off the floor by nightfall." Said Lord Harren.

I smiled again.

"And I suppose you wish to stick to melee or..."

"No. All weapons at our disposal. You shall not win this duel with brute force knave."

I almost smiled again, a dangerous habit. He said so himself, in front of sixteen lord witnesses.  
Time to destroy him.

He lunger with the rapier, and lazily I smacked the blade out of the way with the bottom of my spear.

He lunged again, and I repeated, taking a step back as I did so. His face grew angry, and he launched the fireball he'd been holding at me.

The lords cowered and ducked, but I simply shot into the air, fast enough to sail over the ball of fire. It slammed into the stone walls of the hall. A weak blast, barely worthy of a tavern firepit.

Lord Harren widened his eyes at the sight of a man in full blue adamantium armour hovering above the ground by 8ft placing both hands on his spear.

"Make peace with the gods."

I lunged forwards, deactivating the spell as I did so. As I fell I lunged with my spear. Crystaspear pierced his plate of ornate steel and dug itself into his heart.

He let out that terrible last breath and fell.

I dragged the spear out of his corpse, before turning to the lords behind me.

"I now hold Anticlere. The lord that performs best in the war to come can hold it from now until the end of time. Fail me, and you can imitate Lord Harren in other ways. Any questions?"

At long last, Lord Supursly fell to his knees and declared his loyalty to me.  
I was Lord Tristane Masterly, lord of Wendwater and Anticlere. And the rightful Emperor.

* * *

 _ **Tristane Masterly- Lord of the former Kingdom of Anticlere. 20 thousand total men at his command. Informally declaring himself Emperor  
Dragonborn-Elisa Fire-Borne – On a mission to assassinate the Agent of daggerfall  
Nereveraine- Unchanged  
Hero of Kvatch-Unchanged**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**War of the Four Shezzarines  
Chapter 3: Battle of Daenia**_

 ** _Emperor Tristane Masterly_**  
 ** _Lord of Wendwater and Anticlere_**  
 ** _4e202- 15th Frostfall_**

"How goes the men's training?" I asked.

Dralas smiled.  
"The men of the Wendwater, and the Calvary of Lady Manderly have all learnt the art of Levitation, Marking and Recalling my lord."

Korin Dralas was a dunmer spellsword who I found in a tavern in Hammerfall in the year I had spent gathering my forces. A skilled mage and warrior, he was my go to teacher, having caught on quickly to what was now the forgotten magic of teleportation and levitation. He was tall, about 6ft 2, and half of his face was blackened and hard from a nasty bit of frostbite he got from a ice spell launched at him during the battle of Mournhold.

"Good. Lord Estermont, what do the scouts report?" I asked.

The tough breton smiled.

"The dumb bastards are riding out to meet us at Duarin's hill. Barely a skeleton garrison remains at Daenia itself, and the other cities are similarly empty."

"Excellent. Lord Estermont, I'm giving you command of just under half of our forces. Tell Lord Supursly, Lord Donar, Lady Dyan, Lord Kelvari, Lord Garren, Lady Helmshire and Lord Dawnburn to ride with you to Daenia with all haste. Have the city captured within the week." I ordered. "Offer terms of surrender, kill as few as you can."

"Aye sir." He said, placing his fist to his heart. I nodded.

"Lady Manderly. You'll ride with me against Lord Daen and his forces at Duarin's hill. The rest of you will ride for Midmoth under Lord Bohar's command and capture it. Again, offer terms." I ordered.

The lords balked.

"My lord. You plan to face down thirteen thousand men with just five thousand sell swords, knights and infantry?" Asked Lord Supursly.

By the eight I hope that snivelling worm gets an arrow through his eye during the siege.

"A letter I received yesterday says that I should be expecting representatives from the orcish strongholds within the Wrothtail mountains today. And each one of those five thousand men are trained in magical arts that haven't been seen in over two hundred years." I explained.

"As you wish my lord." He replied with a bow.

"All right, you know your duties. By next week I want Daenia within my control. Lord Estermont, if you get the garrison of Daenia on your side the city is yours to keep. Same with you Lord Bohar."

Nods and words of agreement passed through the tent and soon the lords scattered.

"Griff, prepare my horse." I said to my squire. With a nod of his head he ran out of the tent.

I slumped into the chair and looked over the map of the region. As of yet, my army had been moving as one, easily capturing the city of Longwark. For two days the twenty thousand men and women that made up my army rested and stayed in the city. We had almost used up their entire pantry's of food left for the winter, but merchants from anticlere were riding north with the army to prevent starvation of what were now my people.

My people. I was just a man back when I was last here. Just a spy/soldier/adventurer/hedge mage trying to stay alive and find out the truth. Now? Now I was ordering the death of thousands. The battle at Duarin's hill would be the first real test. Outnumbered almost three to one. Only my strategy, rather then sheer brute force and intimidation, could win this battle.

A well dressed mage walked into the tent. Frenscoli Chavile was my new Court mage after the previous one had proved too disagreeable and had been sent as a gift to Lady Dyan, who's previous court mage had tried to teleport and ended up in Cold Harbour, if the rumours were true.

"My lord, Gonrol Gra-Bulfk of Bulfk has requested to meet with you to discuss the Alliance of Tusk joining your campaign." He said.

I smiled. The Alliance of tusk. Now, that four tribes or six? After the fall of Orisinium, infighting became common, and alliances between tribes were rare. None the less, a few existed.

"Send her in." I said. Gra was a female Prefix. Interesting. Orcish customs were predominately male orientated, and warriors were their ambassadors. Having a female Orc meet with me was interesting.

Or perhaps they were relying on the rumours about me and Gortwog's daughter being true. I seem to recall her firstborn son looking a little pale, despite his father's dark green shade.

My Court mage nodded and moved the tent flaps aside.

And in she walked. Clad entirely in the sharp greenish armour of Orcs, a wicked sharp blade resting at her hips. Her rather large hips.

Bad Emperor.

My eyes travelled upwards to her face. Softer than the average orc, her tusks were barely two centimetres, and both her nose and overbite were unorcish, being round and barely there respectively. Her hair was short against her scalp, a dull auburn colour. She had a tattoo of a hand clutching three arrows on her right cheek.

Briefly my eyes rested on her bossom, but it was hard to tell underneath her armour. No matter. She was a warrior, and I didn't need a bed warmer.

"Ashdautas Vrasubatlat Gonrol." I said in the Orcish tongue.  
Her eyebrows rose at that, clearly not expecting a Breton dressed in a blue woollen coat, wearing adamantium armour that gleamed in the candle light and looking for all intents and purposes like a king to lower himself to the "Disgusting" Orcish language.

She soon recovered, and with a smile soon gave the traditional reply.

"Nar Udautas Tristane." She replied.

"Welcome to my war camp. I hope the ride was pleasant." I said as I got out of the chair and moved around the table.

"I did not die, and your men actually allowed me to enter the camp. I cannot ask for more." She said.

I leaned against the table, standing just a few feet from her. I got a better judge of her height from here. She must've been about 6ft, fairly short for a fully grown orc, but she seemed to be young.

"The Alliance of Tusk is not sure if you truly are the liberator." She barked. Straight to business then.

"I know the Orcs have carvings of me. Gortwog was practically my brother by the time I disappeared. Hell, I gave him the Numidium for a reason." I replied.

"Aye. You look like him. The brown flowing hair of a women, the blunt face of a man. A scar across your left eye and a spear of blue adamantium resting behind you." She said. She was looking at CrystaSpear with great interest. She was a fine weapon. Forge when the Blade Crysmere broke during a battle against one of the Lich's under Mannimarco's control, the spear later slew both him and aided me through the mantella Crux.

"And yet that isn't enough to throw 800 orcs into the fire. Understandable." I said. I grabbed a pitcher of wine and poured myself a goblet, before offering her it.

She grabbed the Pitcher and smelt it.

"Not my choice of alcohol, but getting Nord mead here after they declared independence is tough." I said simply.

"It'll do." She said, drinking straight out of the pitcher. I grinned. Two hundred years and their still the same impolite bastards. Got to love the Orcismer.

"Pass us some when your done." I asked.

She smiled and passed the pitcher. I gulped down one gulp, then set it aside.

"What will it take to convince you and the others?" I asked, already guessing where this was going.

Gonrol nodded towards CrystaSpear.

I smiled.

"No magic. No sorcery, no enchantments bar your spear. You against me." Said Gonrol.

"Fine." I reached out and CrystaSpear and it flew from my chair into my hand.

"I'll get my leather armour." I said.

* * *

I rolled my shoulder. Gonrol bashed her sword against her shield.

Quite a crowd had gathered around the ring of combat.

"3." Shouted Dralas.

Her eyes hardened, her feet separated slightly.  
"2!" Shouted Dralas.

Both hands gripped my spear tighter.

"1!"

Gonrol charged forwards. She swung her sword left. I held my ground and thrust my spear forward. With a flick of my weapon I parried her sword blow. I carried on with this motion and smacked her in the head. She stumbled to her left. I tried to slash again with my spear, but Gonrol moved her left hand smash into my spear. I almost dropped CrystaSpear, but my grip remained tight.

The two of us separated and caught our breath. She began to try and circle me, and I did the same. The two of us walked, trying to psyche the other out.

I charged first. I Feigned a thrust, and she brought her shield up to block. With a jump I kicked her in the shield with both feet. She fell to the floor, as I stood on her shield with she was desperately pressing against, trying to stop it from crushing her. I placed my spear against her neck, the adamantium point gleaming in the sunlight.

"Yield." I said simply.

She spat at me. I didn't even flinch.

My men gasped, and she smiled. And I smiled in return. I stood off her shield and helped her to her feet. She immediately knelt.

"We recognise one emperor, and his name is Tristane." Said Gonrol.

The men cheered. And I grinned.

* * *

The Ashen winds tore through most everything. Even my thick netch leather armor, and my goggles, did little to make it easy to travel here.

The constant roar of the wind was deafening. The ash felt warm, even with this thick clothing on. It was dark, the sky a blood red, lightning playing across it like minnows in a stream. I pushed onwards though.

It had been many years since I had been here. A single light from a cave was my guide, barely visible through the ash and dust.

My the time I reached it, I was completely blind, my goggles completely covered in ash.

"What is a woman doing outside in this hellish land?" Shouted a voice.

I removed the face wrappings as I moved deeper into the cave, away from the winds and dust outside.  
"Travelling." I said simply.

The Ashlander moitioned to the night fire.

"Sit a while. I haven't much to eat, but fire feeds men just as well as bread." Said the Ashlander.

I nodded and sat aside the fire.

"Not many people left on Vvardenfell. What brings you here...?"

"Nerevar. Indoril Nerevar." I replied, running a hand through my hair.  
 _ **  
Lord Indoril Nerevar/ Sindril Drylan/ Nerevarine  
4e202 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **Frostfall**_

Two hundred years. I ran. Ran from the nightmares, from my responsibilities, from prophecy and destiny. I fled to a land too far for men, elves or gods to follow me. Akaviri held as little for me as Tamriel did. Still, when I got back, I learnt just how badly my actions effected Morrowind.

My slaying of Dagoth Ur removed Vivec's Divinity. Without him, the ministry of truth crashed to the ground. The Red mountain erupted and Morrowind was sundered. The Slaves, those I had ignored in my quest, rose up. The Argonians had marched as far as Ebonheart. Vvardenfell was no more. My people were decimated. Many had fled to Skyrim, the nords being their ancient enemy. And then, the Nords were driving them out, back into the ashen hell that was northern Morrowind.

Azura had gotten her revenge on the Chimer. Turning them ashen was nothing. A "Curse" she had called it. No, she made their legendary hero the architect of their destruction. A bitter irony. A immortal dunmer women, a outlander accepted by great house and ashlander alike, their Hortator and Nerevarine, had utterly destroyed their culture.

No more. Rumours spoke of an Empire rising in the west. My people were shattered, all but gone. But a cornered Guar is more dangerous then the dragon of the west or the wolf of the north. I will rebuild my people. And to do so, I most travel once more to the red mountain. Desperate times call for desperate measures. A reached into my backpack. I had a morag tong agent assassinate a mage in Skyrim who had Keening and bring it to me. With Wraithguard, Sunder and keening... I could do anything.

* * *

 _ **Emperor Tristane Masterly  
Lord of Wendwater and Anticlere  
4e202- 18th Frostfall**_

Duarin's hill. On the south of that valley, stood my men. Five thousand Eight hundred soldiers. Orcish warriors, Breton/redguard/orc sellswords, Breton soldiers and Calvery. All but the Orcs taught my brand of magic. And to the north stood the opposistion. Thirteen thousand men of Daenia, practically their entire armed forces.

I, Korin Dralas, Lady Manderly and Gonrol rode forth, carrying the red flag of parley. From their side rode Lord Daen and various minor Lordlings I cared little for. I wouldn't accept terms of surrender. I needed a strong military victory to boost my cause. There would be no trickery, no deciet. Well... Not politically.

Our riders and his meet in the middle, at the bottom of the Valley.

"Lord Daen. I see your army has decided to throw themselves upon my spear." I shouted.

"Your a bastard Masterly. You ride with beasts and sellswords. You claim a throne you may not sit. I shall end this madness here and now." Shouted Lord Daen.

"I shall give you and your men one chance. Bend the knee or be destroyed. No inbetween." I shouted.

Lord Daen turned instead to Gorin.

"An Orcish whore? Just how desperate is your army. You bring only five thousand men here Masterly."

"That's Emperor Masterly, Lord of the Wendwater and Anticlere. Liberator of the orcs and Agent of the Warp. Blade of the emperor and slayer of Mannimarco. Refer to him by his titles earned by blood, not given to him by falling from your mothers gaping vagina." Said Gonrol.

I couldn't help it, I actually burst out laughing.

I wiped a tear from my eye then made a stern mask of my face. My glare moved from Lordling to Lordling until finally once again settling on Lord Daen.

"Prepare your Last Writs, and pray to your gods for mercy. Because I shall offer none." I said.

And with that, we rode away.

It took two minutes to ride back to the vanguard. At the front of my army I had the thousand or so heavy Calvary.

"Men of the Anticlere! Loyal Soldiers of the Fourth Empire! Ride now! Ride for the dawn of a new era!" I shouted.

I drew CrystaSpear, and heard the sound of A thousand men draw their swords, spears and Axes.

My horse began to gallop, and a thousand soldiers followed behind, the sound deafening. I heard barely a few shouts and war cries, over that mass of footfall.

The Opposing army began their charge. Riding forth to meet us. Down the hill we both rode, ready to cause death.

Mere moments before our forces were to clash, a horn blew from our side. The signal. I prepared the spell and cast it.

In a moment, I was back at the top of the hill. And sure enough, a thousand riders returned to where they had stood not moments ago.

We watched the Calvery charge from their side almost halted. With nothing to charge against, their lost cohesion. Some continued to sally forth, other tried to turn around and return to the rest of their army.

I looked behind me, and noticed 400 archers floating in the air, their bows already notched.

"Fire!" Shouted Dralas.

400 arrows flew into the opposing army. Men fell from horses, horses fell beneath men.

"Fire at will!" Shouted Dralas, knowing speed was at the essence, making sure to fire a few volleys before the spell of levitation wore off. Arrows rained down on the opposing army. Usually, with this uneven terrain, there's no way an army would commit it's heavy Cavalry first. Unless the opposing side did so to. And height advantage my Archers had meant they could rain death on the 2000 or so mounted knights and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

A three horn blast sounded, and 800 orcs put on pieces of jewellery.

A month ago, I had requested every soulgem, from common to grand, in Anticlere. Frenscoli Chavile began the long work of enchanting some 1146 pieces of jewellery with anchor spells. A day ago, 15 scouts used these to cast Anchor on the other side of the ridge, right where the enemy infantry were standing.

I watched as 800 orcish warriors disappeared. A moment later, I watched as utter chaos descended on the enemy lines. Their Peasent Levies were falling under the Orcish axes, swords and maces.

I pointed CrystaSpear once more and charged forward, just as the Archer's levitation was beginning to wear off. I glanced at the enemy lines, watching as the men turned around to try and combat the orcish threat that had appeared behind them, and as the others tried to support the chaotic cavalry below.

About an thousand men rushed forward to join the 700 or so mounted knights still alive below.

In moments, we slammed into them. I drove my spear straight through the head of one knight, his grey rusting armour splatted with blood. In a moment I pulled the spear out of his skull and cast a spell of fire at another about fifteen feet away. His arm set alight, distracting him long enough for a spear of one of my cavalry to plough through him. I readied my horse and rode forward. Poorly armoured men were run over by my horse as if they were barely there.

We rode on. Almost reaching the incline of the hill. I knew what to do in a moment, letting go of the reins of my horse and casting a spell. I levitated towards the army in complete disarray at the top of the hill. About a hundred men and women followed behind me, the rest continuing to mop up in the bottom of the valley. Two horns blasted and I watched as the remaining 4000 of my men were lifted into the air and flew straight over the valley.

By the time my spell had worn off, I was deep in enemy lines, their arrows, what few archers left that hadn't fled the battlefield, were nowhere near me. As I fell, I plunged my spear into a well armour well equipped man on a horse, no doubt some lordling. I kicked him off the horse and off my spear, then gripped the reins and charged forth once more. The warhorse followed my commands and rode back.

More men were fleeing now, and my infantry had made landfall at the front of the opposing army, cutting down the demoralised men with ease.

I looked around, stabbing with my spear as I did, looking for targets of opportunity or import to kill.

My eyes fell upon Lord Daen, desperately trying to fight off one of Gonrol's orcs. I charged forth. Daen plunged his silver rapier into the Orcs heart, only to see my charging horse moments before it slammed into him. His steel plate took the brunt of the force as he fell to the floor. A arrow impacted near my foot as I got off my horse. I span CrystaSpear around, waiting for Lord Daen to get to his feet. When he did so, I lunged forward. The man parried the blow, but I span my body around and turned away from him, slamming the butt of my spear into his head. He stumbled, and I span around again, slashing upwards with the spear. It caught him on his left armpit, and I felt the blade dig into his underprotected flesh.

It didn't cut through though, and I dragged the spear out of him. I dropped CrystaSpear on the ground, and reached forth. His dropped rapier flew from the ground into my hand. He cowered, was moments away from shouting some cry of mercy, but I ignored it, stabbing the blade between his visor. I let go of the sword and both man and sword fell to the ground. I recasted a spell of levitation after picking up my spear and flew above the battlefield. Sure enough, I could see clearly my army cutting a large sway through the enemy. The two forces looked much more equal now, and most of the enemy was running to the hills.

If we took out the Lords, without the knights, the peasants would simply flee. With most of the knights dead at the bottom of the valley, and many of the lords surrounded by orc, sellsword or breton infantry, the battle was almost over, mere minutes after it had began.

The men knew to take prisoners if possible. And with that, I used the last of my magicka to recall myself back to where I had started.

* * *

In the end, we had captured 6 of the fourteen lords of Daenia. The rest were dead. They very quickly swore fealty to me, as the other option was of course death. As much as I wanted to reward the men that had followed me loyally, I couldn't kill every lord I came across. I was building an empire, not raiding the high rock.

Our casualties numbered a mere 249. Many were saved by restoration magic, but the vast majority simply barely got wounded. The Orcs drank deeply that night, their first real true battle since the fall of Orisinium.

Lady Manderly had congratulated me on the success, and we would spend one night camped at Duarin's. Before marching forth to Daenia city itself, hopefully already taken by Lord Estermont.

"Well Gonrol, I promised war. Was that not war?" I asked. Gonrol was in my command tent, the two of us clutching pitchers of wine each.

"Aye. Your magic trickery truly worked. What now?" She asked.

"We shall rest at Daenia, regrouped with the rest of my forces, reevalute our numbers and then split up. Half the men shall move forth and capture each terroritory of Wayrest piece by piece, adding lords and peasents as they go. And half shall ride to Wayrest with all haste, before the Legion can mobilise and attack us." I explained, before taking a gulp of wine.

"You fear the empire?" She asked.

"I fear nothing. I wonder if my peasent levies and sellswords can face off against a professional army 5000 strong and the might of the capital." I explained.

She gulped down more wine, before sighing.

"I had never thought I would fight alongside... humans." She said.

"Aye. And two hundred years ago, I never fought of orcs as anything more then stupid beasts. But times and truth have changed. In more ways then I truly understand." I said. I stared into the pitcher. She looked at me quizically.

"I will explain later. For now, join your warriors. We may only party tonight, so make it a good one." I said with a weak smile.

"Nar Udautas Tristane" She said with a nod. And with that, she left the tent.

I sighed and ran a hand down my face. I knew that no battle would be that easy until I controlled the imperial legions. It was a difficult road to the imperial city. But I would make it there. Today proved that.

* * *

 _ **Emperor Tristane Masterly- Conquered the Terroritory of Daenia and is ready to begin plannign for the siege of Wayrest.  
Elisa Fire-Borne- Heading towards the Skyrim-High rock border to meet Tristane.  
Nerevarine/ Sindril Drylan- Returned to Vvardenfell, making her way through the blasted and ruined lands to go to the red mountain, where no man has set foot since the red year almost two hundred year prior. Reasons unknown.  
Hero of Kvatch- Unchanged**_

 _ **Appendices:**_

 _ **CrsytaSpear- During a battle against a Lich general of Mannimarco's cult, Tristane's sword Chrysamere broke against the bones. His companion Shala Gra-Gortwog aided him in both finishing off the Lich and reforging what remained of the legendary sword into a spear, which would later be driven through the heart of Mannimarco and fend off the crazed Numidium.**_


End file.
